Look Again
by madamequeso
Summary: e/R, modern, one shot. I have a compulsive need to give characters happy endings.


Enjolras, standing alone on the rubble-strewn street as the wall of police in front of him pulls out their guns, is the most sobering thing Grantaire has ever seen. His minds feels clearer than it has in years, and suddenly he's running, even though Grantaire never runs, and then he is standing next to the man who is always just a little out of reach, even in Grantaire's dreams. He is not sure why he is here, exactly, he only knows that the thought of Enjolras facing this alone was too painful to bear. But perhaps he wanted it that way, to be a solitary martyr for his failed rebellion. So Grantaire has to ask, "Do you permit it?" because he is ugly in so many ways, and he does not want to mar the beauty of Enjolras' final act. But the stoic blonde turns to him with a grim smile, one that implies equality for once, and nods. Grantaire takes Enjolras' hand as they turn to face the police together, because he might as well enjoy his trip to hell, and as the first bullet hits the agony is nothing compared to the exquisite pleasure of this man's hand in his, warm and softer than he expected. But that's one of the most beautiful things about Enjolras, he has experienced so little of the hardship which he is so passionate about eradicating. Up to this point Grantaire thought he had experienced it all, the good and the bad, but holding Enjolras' hand blows everything else out of the water, even death. He almost doesn't notice, as darkness descends around him and reality slips away.

Grantaire's first impression as he opens his eyes is light. The second is Enjolras. The latter is not at all surprising, because it is the face that he always sees, eyes open or closed. The first thing Grantaire says is perhaps the most cheesy and embarrassing sentence he has ever uttered. "Is this heaven?"

"No." Enjolras chuckles a little, and as always when a sudden smile breaks across Enjolras' serious demeanor, Grantaire can't breath for a moment. "It's a hospital." Grantaire is still confused, and it must show on his face, because Enjolras continues, "You're alive. The police chief called off the charge and put us in ambulances once we were down." His face darkens. "Much less press that way, than if they had to explain dead bodies."

"I'm-then, you're alive." Grantaire says, because this is the much more important point to establish than his own paltry existence.

"Yes." Enjolras agrees, giving him a serious, appreciative look. "I came to pretty quickly, but you were worrying us there for a while. You've been in a coma for a week." He speaks of "us," and Grantaire knows who his other visitors most likely were, but right now there is only Enjolras, and there are signs around the room, law books and discarded organic food containers, that indicate he has been spending a lot of time here, waiting for Grantaire to wake up. And maybe temporarily dying has made Grantaire brave, because he blurts

"Can I kiss you?" Before he can think better of it. Enjolras looks surprised, frightened almost, and Grantaire comes to the realization that he physically can not, that moving from his hospital bed at all is an insurmountable challenge at this point in time. Enjolras spots the issue, and Grantaire wonders if he is dreaming as the man he loves leans over and gives him a chaste kiss on the lips. And the tiny brush of affection is almost torture, because Grantaire knows he will never have anything more. Except that Enjolras' face is still very close to his, and it seems that Grantaire has summoned enough strength to put his hand on that face and there it sits, weathered brown skin against creamy white, the privilege this serious man carries as such a burden, and the sight makes Grantaire want to cry for some stupid reason. Then Enjolras is leaning down again, and this kiss is not chaste. Enjolras is unsure and a little clumsy, careful not to put his hands anywhere on Grantaire's injured torso, which he is sure will be causing him pain very soon. But for the space of this kiss nothing can hurt, and for once Grantaire takes the lead, tangling his hand in Enjolras' hair and tilting his head to deepen the kiss, trying to express with lips and tongue what words always seem to fall short of. It might have gone on forever, but the frantic beep beep beep of Grantaire's elevated heart rate sends a nurse rushing into the room, and for the moment before they break apart Grantaire knows exactly what she sees. The dashing blonde leader of the failed revolution is leaning over the bed, his hands digging deep furrows in the mattress on either side of Grantaire's body, and is seemingly kissing the life back into a patient who is only remarkable because his blood tested dirty for almost every substance they have a test for. But oh god, he would give all of that up for a few more of those kisses. And the way Enjolras _looks _at him, through the blush staining his cheeks, says that maybe it is not wishful thinking this time. Maybe Enjolras finally sees Grantaire, the way Grantaire has always seen him.


End file.
